“She chose a motel,” Jake says, voice tight. “Low cameras. No witnesses.”
“She’s hiding her,” I mutter, throat raw. “Or...”
I don’t want to think of the worst.
Jake speeds up, weaving through traffic like a madman. I should tell him to slow down, but I can’t. Every second that ticks by feels like a noose tightening around my neck.
“Natalie’s smart,” Jake says quietly. “She’ll stall. She’ll fight if she can.”
She shouldn’t have to.
A bolt of rage tears through me so violently that I slam my palm against the dashboard. Jake doesn’t flinch. He just pushes the car harder.
Rose.
I should’ve buried her obsession the first time she crossed a line. Should’ve never believed she would let it go.
“She’s unstable,” I say aloud, needing them to hear it. “She’s not going to think rationally. If she feels cornered?—”
“She won’t hurt Natalie unless she thinks she’s already lost,” Jake cuts in. “We move fast and quiet. Get Natalie. End it.”
The buildings thin out as we fly toward the outskirts of the city. Cheap motels. Broken neon signs. The kind of place no one asks questions.
“She picked this spot for a reason,” Roland says, his voice strained. “Isolation.”
“And desperation,” I add. Because Rose never wanted anonymity. She wanted me to notice her. To chase her.
Well, she got her wish.
Jake jerks the car off the freeway, tires squealing on the icy asphalt as he takes the exit toward the grimy side of town. The windshield wipers work overtime against the mix of sleet and dirty snow falling from the gray sky.
My stomach twists as the motel comes into view—faded, flickering sign barely visible through the gloom, peeling paint made worse by winter weather, cars lined up outside rooms with doors that look ready to fall off their hinges. Patches ofblack ice glint dangerously in the parking lot, and our breath fogs the windows as we sit for a moment, surveying the scene.
Natalie’s somewhere in there. Alone. Scared. Pregnant.
I tighten my fists until my knuckles go white.
I’m coming for you, Natalie.
I swear to God, I’m coming.
“Ready?” Jake kills the engine one block away.
I nod once, sharp and cold. No more words. No more hesitation.
We move.
The man at the reception desk is smoking weed when we barge in.
He looks up when we enter and blinks slowly, eyeing the three of us. “Ah, you three want a room? The valentine suite just emptied?—”
I ignore his words. “Two women showed up here. A redhead and a blonde.”
“No redhead. Got a couple of blondes, though,” he says lazily, puffing out some smoke. “Which one you have a date with?”
“The one who looks rich,” I say coldly.
“Sure,” he bares his teeth in a yellow smile, holding out his hand. “Cost you fifty to tell you her room number.”
